


You Don’t Fuck With Tradition

by ambitiousbutrubbish



Series: Country Roads, Take Me Home [4]
Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Canon-typical language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romance, but like they're bad at it, but very roundabout, except in real life they'd be much more gory than i've described them, farming injuries, to people and to animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambitiousbutrubbish/pseuds/ambitiousbutrubbish
Summary: Wayne and Daryl, sittin’ in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage…
Relationships: Daryl/Wayne (Letterkenny)
Series: Country Roads, Take Me Home [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747519
Comments: 47
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Every injury in here is one I have personally seen, so that's fun. Maybe not in the exact same way, but lots of things can go wrong when there's heavy machinery and big animals involved.

The alarm blares at him for the fifth time in an hour, and Wayne slams on the breaks of the Deere, his foot makin’ it almost all the way to the floor before the resistance kicks in. He flings open the tractor door with enough force that, were he in a better mood, he’d be cursin’ himself out for risking shatterin’ it. He jumps off the bottom step and lands solidly on the ground with a _thump_ , stalks over and sees the hay built up behind the ram _again_ , blocking the baler from completin’ the packing action. 

The sun is shining, not a cloud in the sky. It’s a great day for hay, a beautiful day all ‘round, and Wayne has been fantasising about takin’ a bat to the baler and tractor and just about anything in reach since the third time the warning alarm blasted from just behind his head, ear-height.

Wayne sticks his hand inside the machine to clear the build-up, and has a split second to think that he has done something monumentally stupid before the freed ram completes its action. Without a block it slams brutally hard and fast backwards; squashing two of his fingers between it, the body of the baler and some of the hay that he hasn’t quite pulled out, just enough to cushion the blow and stop them from being completely crushed between sun-warmed, unyielding metal. 

The ram moves back forward and rests against the half-completed bale, and Wayne yanks his hand free. It’s over too quick for him to register straight away what has happened. His first thought when he looks down at the damage is absurdly of a sausage; skin cut open too early in the cookin’ process so that the exposed meat has curled over slightly at the edges, still a little pink and raw inside. 

His second thought is that it really fuckin’ hurts.

His other hand fumbles for his phone and brings up Darry’s number, even as most of his attention is on the beads of blood very quickly filling up the holes in his fingers and dripping out onto the ground. He brings his phone up to his ear, mechanically.

“Wayne? How’r’ya now?”

“I’ve burst my fingers open.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and then: “fuck”. Wayne looks up as Darry’s tractor lurches to a stop, the rake on the back flicking up a whirlwind of cut grass and dirt, not shut off and lifted properly first. He sees Darry almost trip off the steps and then jog over his way. The pain is really startin’ to make itself known now as his brain catches up, his vision swimmin’ a little as he watches Darry awkwardly leaping over the lines of gathered hay that are waitin’ for the bailer to collect. 

When Darry gets closer enough to see, he swears again, his eyes wide. “Fuck. Better get you back to the house. A’int got nothin’ here clean enough t’wrap that up in.”

Wayne nods, not quite trustin’ his voice, and spins around in the direction of the quad, marches off towards it. He’s actively not looking at his hand now, even as he holds it up above his elbow with his other. But he can feel the blood now runnin’ down his sleeve. 

Darry doesn’t try to help him and Wayne’d hate it if he did, but he does walk close enough beside him that he’ll be able to grab ‘im if he needs it. 

But Wayne makes it to the bike unassisted and climbs on behind Darry, his uninjured arm wrapped around his waist to hold on, the other hand sitting palm-up on Darry’s thigh and now bleedin’ onto his coveralls. 

As they race off towards the house, the wind whips into his wound; another sharp sting just keeping the pain at the forefront of his mind. Wayne squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead into Darry’s back, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the dark spots in his vision. He finds himself muttering a few fucks of his own under his breath.

********************

When they arrive, the house is empty. Darry rushes off to grab the first aid kit out of the bathroom, while Wayne pulls an ice pack out of the freezer and struggles to wrap it up in a kitchen towel one-handed, while simultaneously trying not to bleed onto the floor. 

When he gets back, Darry drags two chairs to the corner of the table so he can help patch him up, but Wayne shakes his head when he brandishes an iodine wipe. “Just wrap ‘em up for now, and I’ll numb it a bit before you go puttin’ that shit on me.”

Darry shrugs. “Sure, Wayne”, and Wayne sits down on the other chair and puts his hand palm-up on the table. Darry loosely wraps a bandage around his fingers to stop blood gettin’ everywhere. It’s mostly stoped by now anyway, but Katy’d banish ‘em both to Darry’s place if they made a mess. 

Wayne puts the ice pack on his fingers, and holds it there until the numbness starts to become its own kind of pain. “Alright. Make it quick.”

He takes the ice pack away, and Darry is immediately at work, unwrappin' the bandage and grabbing a fresh wipe. The feeling in his fingers starts coming back alarmingly quickly as Darry cleans the wounds, and Wayne clenches his jaw. He can tell that Darry would like t’be much more gentle with him, his touch light on his wrist with the hand not working, but also that he’s weighin’ that up against the need t’just get it done, an’ coming up with the lesser of two evils. 

It ain’t even a minute ‘fore he’s considering tellin' Darry to pump the breaks for a bit, but Darry’s got one eye on his work and one on Wayne’s face, and he pulls back first. Darry drops the iodine wipe and wads up the bandage, uses that to cover his cuts instead. “Numb that again,” he says, “an’ I’ll fix it up properly.”

He don’t say thank you even though he is grateful that Darry stepped in ‘fore he had’ta admit weakness. That’s just what Darry does. They know how to exist ‘round each other.

When Wayne takes the ice pack off the second time, Darry grabs the roll of bandage tape and makes quick work of wrapping up both his fingers. He lifts Wayne’s hand a little when he’s done, presses his lips to his handiwork. It’s just about over the line of being unbearably soft for 11 in the morning, but he also screws up his face from the lingering taste of iodine, so Wayne’ll let it go without too much fuss. “Attaboy, Darry.”

Darry smiles, and Wayne lets his hand slip out of his grip. Without the splits in his skin exposed, the pain in his fingers settles down to more of a dull ache, and Wayne doesn’t bother icin’ them again. Hardly gonna get used to the feelin’ and move past it if he don’t just let it happen. But even so, it’s clear he needs a break t’get his head back on straight and calm and well, like, they’re already at the house. “Might as well have an early lunch.”

Darry shrugs. “Have a beer?”

“I’d have a beer.” Wayne replies, ‘cause sure as God’s got sandals, he needs t’just take the edge off the day. And even though it ain’t really proper to eat somewhere that ain’t the dining table, Wayne thinks he can be forgiven this once for sittin’ down in front of the TV. Darry passes him a Puppers and an apple. Breakfast of champions, ‘cept of course it’s lunch. 

The couch jostles when Darry flops down next to him clutching his own meal, similarly consisting primarily of beer. If he didn’t know Darry he’d be suspectin’ that his lunch choices were the subtle way he was suggesting that Wayne do some grocery shopping, but Wayne knows that there’s never been a subtlety that ain’t passed Darry by. He’s just real pro-day drinkin’. 

Wayne puts his injured hand on Darry’s thigh, and after a beat Darry slides his own over the top, careful not to touch his fingers. Just resting there, a solid point of contact to focus his attention on.

He’s hyper aware of Darry’s fingers curled loosely over the fleshy part of his hand, and he has a _thought_. ‘Cause, like, Wayne’s always just assumed that he would get married one day. It’s what you did. Y’found someone that you wanted to have in yer house fer the rest of your life, and then you made that arrangement all formal-like. ‘Course, Wayne also always assumed that he would get married to a girl, but all his _thought_ proves is that he actually can change his mind, thank you very much. 

‘Cause he’s thinkin’ about how nice it’d be if he could have Darry’s hand layin’ gently over his, and he could feel the cool, smooth metal of a ring on his finger. And yeah, it ain’t really the best safety practices to be wearin’ rings for day-to-day chorin’, not to mention the likelihood of losin’ one out in a field somewhere. But there’d be nothin’ stopping them from wearing them in the house.

And now the thought is there, it’s gotta come out. No good in hidin’ things. “Hey Darry?”

“Yeah, Wayne?”

“You ever thought about marriage?”

For a moment, just a brief moment, Darry squeezes his hand in what Wayne can only assume is surprise. His vision goes a little blurry around the edges and he feels like he’s about to spit, and he can already tell that his fingers are going to be bruised to shit tomorrow, if not earlier than that. Wayne doesn’t think he makes a sound, but it must show somehow ‘cause Darry lets go immediately and snatches his hand back, apologies written over every bit of his face. 

Wayne takes a couple of deep breaths but doesn’t move his hand away. Darry’s own comes back down to warp tentatively around his wrist, safe this time from any shocks. He doesn’t say anything for a bit, and Wayne thinks that maybe he’s forgotten the question in the excitement. And then: “not really, no. S’never come up.”

Wayne nods sharply and looks down at the hands, at how neat and careful Darry has bandaged up his fingers, how deliberately they’re touchin’, when they’re not usually particularly handsy as a general rule.”Well, like. Maybe you should.”

Darry doesn’t squeeze this time, but he does make a soft little sound, almost an “oh”. “Okay.” He says. “I will.”

Wayne risks a glace up at Darry’s face, and he’s smiling. Not the big, toothy grin he wears when he’s excited and happy, but the one that’s 10-ply soft, mostly in his eyes, just a little upturn of the lips. 

Wayne wriggles his arm a little so Darry’s grip on his wrist loosens, and he flips his hand over until they’re touchin’ palm-to-palm, their fingers at a 90 degree angle. He sips his Puppers slowly; for once in his life, in no rush to get back to chores. And just rests.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH&S? I don’t know her.
> 
> Warning for an accident leading to a permanent disability (not to a named character).

There’s a guy Wayne knows that owned a property a couple of farms down from theirs. Use’ta have a beer with their dad when he and Katy were growin’ up. Few years back he started talkin’ seriously about retirement. Sold it all off; the land, the machinery, the house. Bought a Motorhome. Wayne’d heard him discussin’ it at the Ag Hall, him and his wife plannin’ on driving around the country and finally seein’ the Rockies. Maybe pop on over the border, keep headin’ south as far as they could. There’s a lot of land to drive through. 

They’d worked hard their whole life, and Wayne’d been happy for ‘em.

Three days before they’d been due ta leave he’d been out bangin’ in a few posts for the new owners, and the post driver had ricocheted off and hit ‘im in the back of the head, top of the spine. Wasn’t standin’ right when he was doin’ it, but most folks aren’t after a full day’s chorin’. Absolute freak accident. Paralysed ‘im from the neck down. Life can be pretty fuckin’ cruel.

Wayne don’t know why he’s thinking ‘bout that as he sits up in bed with his phone still in his hand, ‘cause Darry ain’t hurt half as bad as all that. Still, a punctured lung is no good. ‘Specially not when it’s the third time it’s happened. 

He’d gotten a call at 5 in the morning from one of the workers down at the dairy to say they were takin’ Darry to the clinic ‘cause one of the cows had kicked him in the chest and they all heard a rib crack. And then he got a call from the clinic sayin’ they were transferring Darry to a hospital for surgery. That’d never happened before. Usually they just kept him for observation for a bit and then sent him back home to lie about for a few days. Hell, first time they didn’t even know he’d done anything more’an crack a couple of ribs ‘cause they hadn’t even gone as far as the clinic. Nothing they could really do for ribs anyhow, as far as they figured. Why waste the good doc's time?

But the receptionist had said somethin’ about repeated trauma. Usually Wayne’s better at listenin’ to what he’s told; but it’s early, and like any hick who prides himself on toughing it out, hospitals make him nervous. So the whole explanation of the situation had been mostly white noise and worry. 

Too many people go to the hospital and don’t come back. 

********************

First thing he does after he hangs up with the clinic is to call Dan and tell ‘im what’s happened. Dan’s the appropriate amount of worried about someone with a punctured lung and likely a couple of cracked ribs; which is to say, not overly worried at all. He also doesn’t appear to be particularly bothered by the whole hospital deal either, but he’s always been a little more open to cidiot shit than the rest of ‘em. Prob’ly gets regular check-ups and everythin’.

Dan says he’ll arrange for some farmhands to come on and help for the day, which is real nice of him. Wayne says thanks, and then hangs up and goes to wake Katy and fill her in too. He’s always leery ‘bout going into her room, ‘cause it’s her space and he respects that. Also, because there’s always a chance that he’ll knock on her door and someone that ain’t his sister will open it, and he’ll see much more skin than he would like to see. 

But today it’s just Katy in there, clearly annoyed about being woken, until he explains the situation and get eyes go wide. “You want me to go in with you?” She asks, and Wayne shakes his head. 

“Nah. Someone’s gotta make sure things run smooth here.”

Katy purses her lips. “‘Kay. But call me as soon as you know what’s goin’ on.”

“Course.” Wayne says. And he can see his own fears reflected in Katy’s eyes. ‘Cause the last time one of their family went to the hospital, it was their parents. 

Though if you wanna get technical, _technically_ they never actually made it.

********************

Wayne takes his time getting to the hospital, ‘cause it ain’t visiting hours yet, and there’s something about drivin’ that’s relaxing. Like, he gets behind the wheel and suddenly his brain switches off, the repetitive motions soothing. He’s in there and it’s clutch, accelerator, turn the wheel, break. The fields rushing past, neat rows of crop all regimented like they’re soldiers at attention, all an appropriate distance apart so he can see each row flick over in his peripheral vision as he watches the road ahead and behind and goes through the motions. 

And then between one blink and the next he’s pulling up at the hospital. He sits in the car for a minute and doesn’t look at the building. Tries to imagine himself somewhere else. Tries to imagine that he’s driven to Darry’s, and he’ll go inside and find Darry in bed and waiting up for him. ‘Cept he never goes to Darry’s, ‘cause, like, why the fuck would he want to when his house is so much nicer and he knows it so much better?

And the illusion runs away from ‘im, ‘cause Darry - Darry who’s in hospital, Darry who’s having surgery - Darry’s the one with the imagination. 

Wayne’s the practical one. And it’s time to stop fuckin’ around.

********************

The receptionist turns him away. 

Well, that ain’t exactly true. The receptionist tells him he has to wait. She only spares him a quick glance away from her computer as he approaches her desk. And when he asks to see Darry, she wants to know how he knows him. “Brother?” She asks, and Wayne makes a negative noise. “Husband?”

Wayne blinks a few times and then says, “common law.”

The receptionist readies her fingers on her keyboard. “The two of you have lived together for three years?”

Wayne thinks about lying to her, but that ain’t really fair. “As good as.”

“No such thing as as good as common law.” She tells him, her voice bored. “He’s not awake, and we can’t let anyone who isn’t family in until we can ask his permission. Hospital policy.”

“I am family.” That’s true, regardless of anything else.

The receptionist finally looks away from her computer screen and up at him properly. Wayne don’t know what’s face looks like, but her eyes soften “He’s okay.” She says, almost painfully kind. “There were no issues. It’s just the anaesthetic. I’ll let you know as soon as he’s awake.”

“‘Kay.” Wayne spins away and takes a seat.

********************

It’s not a particularly long wait, but Wayne manages to have a quick check-in with Katy before the receptionist calls him over to give him Darry’s room number. She smiles softly at him when she does, and Wayne can’t even look at that without an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. He don’t want her pity or whatever.

Darry’s sitting up in bed by the time he gets there, his blankets pulled up high; obviously covering up whatever medical shit they did, which Wayne is absurdly thankful for. He grins at him, even more spacey than usual, and this smile Wayne can’t look away from.

“Wayne. How’re ya now?”

“Good’n’you?”

“Oh, not s’bad.” There’s just a little slur in Darry’s voice and he’s pale in a washed out way, not just from spendin’ time out of the sun. But he really does seem okay, and Wayne walks into the room and steps up close to the bed. “Doc says I have to stay a couple of days just to make sure everythin’s sorted.” Wayne nods, and his fingers brush against the hospital bedding, not quite capable of reaching out. “Think I’ll come and stay with you and Katy for a bit when I’m out. Case I need to come back.”

“Yeah.” Wayne says. “Yeah. You should stay with us.”

“That’s what I just said.” Darry giggles. “Ya sure you didn’t get some of the good drugs ‘stead of me?”

“No. I mean. You should stay with us. With me.” Wayne breathes out and touches the blanket more deliberately this time, close to Darry’s hand. “They wouldn’t let me see you. ‘Cause we’re not–“ 

Wayne doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence, ‘cause there ain’t nothin’ that he and Darry are not to each other. But Darry drifts down from whatever interstellar trip he’s on to hear exactly what Wayne’s sayin’. “Yeah. Okay.”

Wayne inches his hand closer, so he and Darry are touching fingertips. “I ain’t comin’ back here t’visit.” Wayne says. 

“No.” Darry replies, and he gives every inch of the hospital he can see from his bed a dark look. Darry’s coping now ‘cause he’s still kinda out of it from the anaesthetic, but soon as he’s fully lucid he won’t like bein’ here any more’an Wayne does. 

“I can ask Katy to come in tomorrow?” Wayne offers, and now he’s sliding his fingers in between Darry’s, slow and deliberate. He’s not even completely sure that Darry notices, but it sure makes him feel better, Darry’s skin warm and alive against his own.

Darry shakes his head at the suggestion. “I’ll be fine fer a couple of days.” His smile is back, unhappiness already long forgotten. “I’ll call you when they’re ready to discharge me. And you can come and take me home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hospitals. Scary. I have been a grand total of once for myself in my life. And that was because I was 6 and had salmonella and needed a drip.
> 
> Instead of the bit about the post driver at the start I thought about making it about the worst golden staph infection I’ve ever seen. But trust me, no one wants to hear about that. 
> 
> Don’t ask me why the clinic is open at 5am, it just is. It’s a small town. They know the doctor/nurse/receptionist. Whatever. 
> 
> When I googled “common law marriage ontario how long” basically every website came up with three years, except one that claims it was only one. I think what it is is that Canada in general is only one year, but it’s three in Ontario. But, I don’t know for sure. Anyway, I also couldn’t tell you how long you have to live together to get de facto status in Australia, so I’m ignorant on all sides here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for soppy romance stuff and also animal injury.

Their neighbour over the back fence is in his 80s, so he runs beef cattle. He hires farmhands when they do injections and when it’s time to load ‘em up on the truck, but mostly they roam free. 

An’ Darry's always been ‘round cows, which is why he clocks the one awkwardly limpin’ about almost on sight. They’ve got their own share of chores to be doin’ ‘fore they can do much about it, but once Wayne’s satisfied that they’ve finished all they’re gonna that day, they jump in the car and head on over. 

Wayne and Darry get on well enough with their neighbour. He seems baffled by their relationship, but like, politely baffled. Like a grandparent looking at TikTok and wondering what it is that kids are up to these days. Not like he’s gonna send some of his boys ‘round at night t’straighten ‘em out. He calls Wayne sometimes when he needs something moved or fixed, but it’s too small a job to get someone to come all the way out from town. But he’s at the age now where most of his work is supervising the farmhands and roaring about in his truck, so he asks Wayne and Darry t’take the vet out to see the cow, rather than go himself. 

********************

The vet, when he arrives, is only a kid. He turns up in a Civic, which, he’s gonna need t’change that up if he wants to be the go-to in a town where large animal vets are a necessity. The shoes that are poking out from the bottom of the door are runners, and Wayne can tell it’s gonna be a long afternoon. 

The vet's handshake when he introduces himself is firm, but they get him in the truck and drive him out to the field they last saw the cow in, and he speaks with all the breezy just-out-of-school confidence of someone who’s about to embarrass himself. Wayne almost feels bad for him, ‘cept everyone’s gotta learn sometime, and learnin’ on the job’s just about the best way t’do it. Ain’t no shame in that, but not everyone sees it that way.

********************

It takes a bit to spot the cow when they’re out there,’cause she’s standin’ around chewin’ her cud like nothin’s wrong. But eventually she shifts forward to a new patch of grass, and her back left leg jumps back off the ground as soon as it touches down. Wayne sees her first this time, now that he knows what he’s looking for, and they leave the car behind and approach on foot so as not to startle her and make ‘er run. Beef cattle aren’t the best socialised, and even a slow, quiet approach is enough to cause panic. As it is, the vet stumbles a little on the uneven ground, and the cows that have wandered over to have a look at them and the truck flinch away.

The cow in question tenses when she sees them close, but it’s immediately obvious what’s keepin’ her from bolting. She’s got a piece of old fence wire wrapped ‘round her leg. Worse: she's clearly been rubbing it up against things trying to get it off, and every time she’s done it, it’s made the wire tighten until it’s broken skin and torn deep into her flesh. What it’s left behind is angry and red and puts Wayne in mind of mince meat. Could be so many more worse things, but still. It ain’t a pretty sight; the hair around the wire rubbed off in her attempts to free herself from the irritant, nothing but raw skin and exposed meat. 

Next to him, Darry huffs out his own little sigh of relief that it’s nothing communicable or bacterial or anything else that’s gonna take more’an just time and peroxide t’heal. But Wayne looks over at the vet, and the kid’s gone white as the new snow. Figures.

“How long you been at the job?” He asks.

The vet visibly startles and blinks at Wayne a few times before answering. “This is my first week.”

Wayne presses his lips together and nods. “Well you wanna know what, this sure as shit ain’t gonna be the last time ya see somethin’ like this. So me an’ Darry’ll show ya how it’s done, and next time you’ll be able t’do it yerself. Sound good?”

“Yes. Thank you.” 

“Right." Wayne says. “Darry, how’s about you have a look through the tool box for the wire cutters?”

“Sure thing, Wayne.” Darry replies, soft and pleased - for whatever reason Wayne don’t know - and he wanders off towards the truck. 

Wayne turns back to the vet. “You brought some antibiotics and peroxide with you?” The vet nods. “Hey Darry?” Wayne calls, and there’s the sound of hooves jumping away off to his left at his raised voice. “Grab the bag in the tray too.” He doesn’t hear Darry acknowledge him, but he trusts he can figure it out.

While they’re waiting, Wayne watches their cow. It’s gonna be a hell of a job gettin’ the wire off without bein’ able to move her to a cattle race. She fer sure ain’t the biggest cow he’s seen: McMurray’s cousin out in Alberta breeds ‘em special t’get as big a beef yield as he can. And even then, one time he an’ Katy went to a fair out of town when they were teens, and there’d been a Holstein-Friesian there that’d come up from the States on tour on account of ‘er size, and she had damn near toward over him. But even so; their cow may not be particularly big, but she’s still gonna be a lot stronger than him and Darry together.

But as it happens, luck’s lookin’ down on them, and as he hears Darry stomping towards them the cow decides she’s sick of standing and sits down. Wayne steps forward quickly to brace himself against her back and neck. She could push him off and hardly exert herself, but it’s complicated a little with the lack of balance that comes with only three working legs. If she don’t get back up on her feet when they’re finished then he’ll start to worry that her goin’ down is the start of somethin’ much worse, but as it stands he’s just happy that they don’t have to chase her ‘round, or risk her kickin’ out while Darry’s workin’ down at foot-level. 

Darry makes an approving noise and squats down next to her foot. He runs his hand up and down the injured leg a couple of times, careful not to touch the cuts and scrapes. It’s unlikely that the cow can feel it, but that’s just the kinda guy Darry is. He says all cows’r just cows and he likely even means it, but he’s still careful and gentle and treats ‘em right. 

Darry makes quick work with the wire cutters, snipping through the parts that haven’t cut so far into flesh that he can’t get clean separation between it and skin. The cow moos loudly in protest, but she doesn’t move so Darry continues, grabs an end of wire and starts unwinding. And then, speaking. “Hey, Wayne?” 

“Yeah, Darry?”

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what you said the other day, an’ maybe we should get married.” He pauses for a moment to find an end for the next piece of wire that’s buried deep, and suddenly Wayne’s extremely interested in watchin’ Darry’s hands proddin’ an’ pokin’, blood smeared on his fingers where pullin’ the wire has opened up scabs in the mess of the injury. “Would make a lotta things a whole lot easier.”

Wayne very carefully don’t look at the vet and pretends that Darry didn’t decide to have this conversation in front of another person, but it’s hard to do that when Darry makes quick work of the wire removal and turns to the vet himself, completely unselfconsciously. “You got some peroxide in that bag?” 

“Yeah.” The vet says, a little hesitantly, and Wayne sorta hopes it’s ‘cause of homophobia and not just from watchin’ wire bein’ pulled outa a cow’s leg, ‘cause he’d have a scrap about now. 

Nothing comes of it though, ‘cause the vet throws Darry a bottle of peroxide, and even though he fumbles a little opening it and the child lock clicks over uselessly a couple of times, he does manage to pour some out onto the wound. 

The cow’s been takin’ it all lying down so far; literally, even. But she _does_ react to that. She lets out another moo, louder than before, almost a bellow, and heaves herself up onto the knees on her front legs. 

The suddenness of the move throws Wayne completely off-balance, and he lands heavily on his back on the ground. He hears Darry telling the vet to give the cow an antibiotic shot before she gets away, but it’s hard t’pay attention to anythin’ over how diligently he’s ignorin’ whatever it is he landed on that’s soft and squishy under his shoulder-blade. 

And next thing, Darry’s hand appears in his field of vision, and Wayne takes it to yank himself to his feet. The cow is already up and pissed off closer to the rest of the herd. Darry don’t let go of his hand straight away, and Wayne’s eyes dart over Darry’s shoulder to see the vet very politely looking away and wandering back to the truck: quick, but not so quickly that it makes it awkward ‘cause he’s runnin’ away from them. Still, Wayne steps closer so they’re almost pressed together. Like, just so they can talk quiet, of course. 

“Now I gotta know.” He says. “Just what the fuck’s got ya thinkin’ ‘bout marriage right now?”

Darry grins. He shifts his hand a little so he can lace their finger’s together. Darry’s fingers are a little sticky from blood, but they’re comfortable and warm and very steady. Worker’s hands. A good ol’ boy to his core. And a sally fer sure, but that don’t take anythin’ away from anythin’ else. It’s soft as all hell; but considerin’ the subject matter, Wayne decides to let ‘im have it. “Nothin’ really. Just been on my mind, is all.”

Wayne scowls. “Well, I ain’t gonna propose without a ring.” He’s got a ring, obviously. Marie-Fred gave hers back, and he’s never gotten around to selling it again. He don’t really know why, ‘cause he ain’t really the kinda guy to hang onto shit like that. But he put it somewhere in a daze the day she cheated on him, and he’s never gone looking for it again. Anyway, it’s a girls ring. And Darry ain’t a girl. But maybe he should find it again, trade it in for somethin’ more appropriate.

“Course not.” Darry giggles. “But when you have one; just between us girls? I’ll say yes.”

“Well, alright.” Wayne looks at him, with his curls and his open smile. And like, ‘kay, most of the time he knows why it took him so long to get to this place with Darry, likes to think that he’s pretty self-aware; how his upbringing was never bigoted, but it was restricted, how he knew that it was okay for people to love who they loved, but not that it was okay for _him_ , specifically. How he never even realised it was possible until it just snuck up on him one day. But sometimes, when he looks at Darry like this - relaxed and carefree and just so sweet - he just don’t get why he didn’t know right away that Darry was the one fer him. “Gonna walk home, though. Pretty sure I got shit on the back of my shirt.”

“Fuck, good buddy.” Darry says. “You’re such a romantic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Jen? Wouldn’t a vet see that kind of injury during their training?” Not necessarily, and especially not if they did their entire certification in the city. They may have seen a picture, but believe you-me, that kind of stuff is much worse to see in real life. When we had the dairy we had Jersey cows and they would need much more treatment than this because Jersey’s are bitches, but when we had the beef farm you could just let those cows wander about on their own and never worry about them unless you wanted to rotate them out of a paddock to grow something or because it had flooded, or when it was time to give them shots. Also, “beef cow” is a bit of a misnomer, since primarily beef comes from steers, but that steer’s got to come from somewhere. 
> 
> Do they have like a slang word for utes (pickup trucks) in Canada? Anyway, the Ford F-Series etc. is too big. Don’t @ me you know I’m right. Just get a Hilux. It’ll move anything you need it to move, and no one driving passed will wonder just what it is you’re compensating for. That was literally the one thought I had in my head the entire time I was in America: why are the cars Like That? Yes these are fightin’ words.
> 
> Also, do Canadians use/have an equivalent for “hooning”? I wanted to use the phrase “hooning about”, and I couldn’t think of a single other way to say it. When I tried googling it it just came up with equivalents for “hoon” and I’m like, that isn’t really the same thing. Not in the context I wanted to use it, anyway. I recognise that this whole question probably doesn’t make a whole lot of sense if you don’t know what “hoon” or “hooning” is, but I’m just like, getting my thoughts out there. Letterkenny refuses to explain itself and so do I.
> 
> Look at me being judgemental of people wearing runners to do farm work as if I don’t do hay in thongs (flip flops) even though it cuts your feet up to hell, because it’s 40+ degrees and I don’t want to put shoes on. Never runners, though. Proper shoes or no shoes, no half-arsing it. Also I drive a Golf, so really I’m a hypocrite on two fronts. But if I was going into a paddock proper I’d take the ute or the Jeep


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me writing this and frantically googling “do Canadians use the term sparrow-fart” because authenticity is important, kids. 
> 
> Apparently there are no rats in Alberta. This has no bearing on this fic, except that I’ve been watching “Joe Pera Talks With You” and every time I get to the end of an episode I’m like the “I don’t know why I’m crying in the club right now” meme, and that’s basically been my vibe for the last couple of days.

Darry’s called out at 2am. Now that he lives with Wayne and Katy, that ain’t supposed t’happen anymore. Like, there’s someone new livin’ on his parent’s old property now, an’ _he_ should be the one doin’ any work before a reasonable time t’be woken. But Darry’s phone rings at two in the fuckin’ morning anyway; ‘cause if a man asks for help, you help him. And that means that you keep yer phone on hand and on ring during calving season. 

Wayne only sorta wakes up when the ringin’ starts, ‘cause he has a great internal clock, and when it knows it’s time for sleepin’ then well, that’s what he’s gonna do. He feels, rather than hears, Darry grumbling behind him, and Darry’s arm slip from around his waist so he can answer the phone. His voice has the timber of sleep, muffled and slurred, and Wayne lets it slip away as he drifts off again; a comforting mumble floating around the edges of his subconscious, keeping him heavy and relaxed.

‘Cept then he’s almost shoved into wakefulness by the cold air that worms its way under the covers when Darry rolls out of bed. 

Wayne flips over to lay on his other side, and spots Darry looking at him guiltily from where he’s hunched over the clothes’ basket. “What they want?”

Darry shrugs, and he grabs yesterday’s shirt out of the basket. “Cow’s havin’ a difficult birth.”

“Ain’t that someone else’s problem now?”

The shirt is followed by a pair of coveralls. “You’d think.”

“Well, you are the best.” Darry glows a little under the praise. His head pops out of the top of the shirt, his curls in a tangle and a goofy smile on his face. “I’ll drive you out there.”

“You don’t have to.” Darry says, but that’s just politeness talkin’. He pulls on his old coveralls without botherin’ t’dress in more’an boxers. 

Wayne’s already out of bed himself and headin’ for the closest ‘fore Darry’s all buttoned up. And while Darry goes to rummage ‘round fer some gloves, Wayne takes the time to get dressed proper, ‘cause he ain’t a fuckin’ degen. And he weren’t raised in a barn. Just near one. 

He waits in the car, and when Darry slips into the passenger side he keeps sliding across until he’s leanin’ over the centre console, and kisses Wayne on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Wayne grumbles as he starts the car. But, like, if he’s gotta be up at 2 in the mornin’, that ain’t a bad way t’start it. 

********************

The lights are on in the barn when they get to Darry’s old property, so at least whoever is livin’ there now had the decency t’put the cow somewhere bright and out of the elements. When they get in there she’s lyin’ on her side and there’s a bucket of soapy water set up and waiting; but the new guy in the house ain’t there, and Wayne’s thinkin’ that he’s gonna have to get some people together and pay him a visit at a more acceptable time of the day, to have a conversation about abandonin’ animals in their time of need. 

Darry don’t waste time musing on the ethics of the situation, just rolls on his gloves and gets right t’work. If he’s bein’ honest, this part is why Wayne’s glad his great grandparents decided to grow crops rather than keep cattle. He’s more interested in animal kids than human ones to be sure, but he don’t want to be there when either are born. So he crouches down near the cow’s head and gives ‘er a scratch between the ears instead. 

He hears Darry make a scoffing noise from the other end. “Yeah, I’ve got a head and one leg. This is some real simple shit.” Wayne makes a humming noise in reply, and then hears some splashing, followed by a strange squishing noise that he knows he’s gonna be spending a lot of time repressin’ fer the rest of the day. He looks deeply into the cow’s eye, the one that isn’t pressed to the ground. It’s oddly pleasant: dark and bottomless, no blemish interrupting smooth, glossy black. If eyes really are the window to the soul, and theological debates about the existence of animal souls aside, then her’s would be cool and placid. And it really fuckin’ pisses Wayne off to see that she’s havin’ such a hard time despite that. Reminds him of all the people he’s known who struggled, even though they never did nothin’ wrong. 

Reminds him, maybe a little inappropriately considerin’ the context, of Darry’s mom. Makes him wonder what she’d think of how they all turned out. She’d been a kind woman who fell victim to small-town life. And then thinkin’ on Darry’s mom gets him wonderin’ about his own folks, and Wayne’s almost glad to hear the second squishy noise that signals Darry’s done with his work.

“Should be good to go, now.” Darry says, and steps over so he’s standin’ a bit back from where the cow’s legs are pointing, so that he can see the whole of her clearly. Wayne gets up from his squat to stand next to him. He pulls a pack of darts out of his shirt pocket and lights two. The first he keeps for himself. Darry’s fiddling with his gloves, trying to roll them off and not get any of the assorted slimes or blood on his clothes, but he pauses for a moment and turns his head so Wayne can silently slip the second dart between his lips. He smiles brightly around it, and Wayne quickly looks away. Can’t be havin’ any inappropriate thoughts while touchin’ Darry would only lead t’him becomin’ unpleasantly gooey. 

He squints at the cow instead. Now the obstruction’s been cleared, she’s made impressively quick work in birthin’ her calf. Like it was hangin’ around fer so long that she can’t wait another second t’get it out’f ‘er. Wayne don’t blame her. Beside him he hears the snap that means Darry’s got at least one glove off, and they stand there and watch as the sticky mess of calf falls out and onto the ground. 

It sits there for a moment, looking around and blinking. The cow don’t get up immediately, likely exhausted, but Darry’s still got one glove on, and he nudges the calf over until it’s close enough to the cow’s head that she can start cleanin’ it up. She ain't overly enthusiastic about it, but she’s gettin’ the job done and she’s even pushing herself up onto her legs rather than her side. 

Darry rolls the other glove off, when it’s clear both are going to be as fine as they can be. “Let’s go home.”

Wayne stares straight ahead, and says “don’t ya wanna hang ‘round an’ celebrate the miracle of birth?”

He can feel Darry glarin’ at the side of his face, and tries not to grin. “All I want is t’get clean before I have to come in again.”

Wayne shrugs. The calf is shifting around now. It won’t stand just yet, but the legs tucked under its body tremble as it puts weight on them in turn. “Could call off, since they made you come in an’ do this?”

“Nah.” Darry says. “Wouldn’t be right, such short notice.” Sometimes Wayne wonders how Darry grew up so well. He certainly didn’t get any teachin’s from his dad. “‘Sides.” Darry continues. “I’ll come back ‘round here after and see if I can bag the afterbirth, and we can bait that coyote that’s been sniffin’ around.”

Wayne turns t’look at him now, his grin a little proud of himself fer thinkin’ ahead, eyes bright despite the hour. And whatever his parents might’ve thought about them, Wayne finds that he don’t really care. 

_This_ is more important than their, or anyone’s approval. 

********************

Darry crashes almost immediately on gettin’ in the car. It ain’t a long or difficult way back home and Wayne’s done it plenty of times, so he spends the whole drive with one eye on the road, and the other on Darry dozing in the passenger seat. 

He can’t help but fret a little about the strain his head lolling about like that would be putting on his neck. Farming already leads to premature aches and pains, and they don’t need to be adding to it. And Darry wouldn’t be able t’go on without farmin’. He’s the type that’ll farm ’til he dies; and if he has t’stop before then, then death’ll come ‘round quick. Wayne don’t judge and he ain’t jealous, ‘cause he’s the same. Pickin’s stones and pullin’ teats: it’s who they are.

Not much he can do about it, though. In different circumstances, he’d let Darry lay across the back seat, or maybe he might let him try to lean on over the centre console and rest his head on Wayne’s arm, if that’s what he wanted. It’d be awkward, but Darry’s fuckin’ awkward, sometimes. But like, ‘kay, let’s just say that the gloves don’t keep everythin’ clean. So. Darry’s stickin’ to his own side. 

Still. Wayne drives as slow and careful as he can. And if it takes a few extra minutes to get home, well, it ain’t like Darry’s really awake t’see how soft he’s being anyway.

********************

Darry strips down to his boxers on the porch, ‘cause there’s no good in trackin’ anything that might happen t’slide off his coveralls through the house. He balls it up with his shirt and tosses it into the laundry as they walk past. Katy’s gonna be mad ‘bout that in the morning, but right now they’re too tired to care.

Wayne follows him into the bathroom, and then into the shower. It ain’t really big enough fer two grown men if they’re bein’ practical. But, like, there’s a time for bein’ practical, and there’s a time for crowdin’ up as close to yer sweetie as you possibly can; just skin on skin, and barely even space for water t’run between. 

Wayne wraps an arm around Darry’s waist, and Darry lets his head hang down loose, his mouth slack against the juncture between Wayne’s neck and shoulder. He’s not doin’ anythin’ with it, but it’s heavy and soft and warm; a warmth different from the water falling down around them, and it makes Wayne pull him closer, somehow, some of Darry’s wet hair plastered to his cheek.

He’s never felt like this before. For anyone. And he wants it every fuckin’ day. “Darry?” He says, his neck bent a little so he’s sure he can be heard. He feels the vibrations from Darry’s hum of acknowledgement against his skin; and then down under it and going deeper, just settling inside of him. Just, like, hummin’ along with with his heart or the universe or some other poetic shit that he’s not really built for, but he knows it anyway. And he ain’t got the ring on him, but he needs t’know right now. “Marry me.”

For a second he thinks he’s left it too late, and Darry’s fallen asleep. But then there’s a tickle as Darry smiles, and he turns his head, drags lips up his neck, and then out along his jaw until they’re kissing, slow and warm and deep, the taste of the water falling all around them almost cutting through the fact that they’ve both only fairly recently woken up and had a couple of darts. 

And Wayne don’t even care ‘bout that, ‘cause Darry leans back a little and says “yes”, before going back in fer round two. And really, that’s the only important thing in the fuckin’ world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! Cows, like a whole lot of animals, will eat their own afterbirth so that predators won’t smell it and then attack calves. Not, to be honest, much of an issue in Australia. But sometimes people would come to our farm and use it to go spotlighting for foxes. I see no reason why the same principle couldn’t apply for coyotes and stuff. Also, cows can be in labour for a really long time and sometimes barely show any signs of, and basically you just have to keep an eye on them. Essentially, it’s a timing thing. Or for something more visual, if she’s walking wound with her tail raised like she’s trying to pee for a few hours, or if stuff starts coming out and then stops, then there’s probably something going wrong there. If it gets stuck but you can see the head and one leg, it usually just means that the calf has got one leg folded up somewhere (carpal flexion or shoulder flexion) and that's blocking the calf from coming out. Basically you just push it back in there a little while straightening the leg out and then let nature take its course. It's not ideal to have a cow lying down when you're trying to fix a birth difficulty, but you work with what you've got. If she doesn't want to get up, you're not getting her up with anything less than some ropes and pulleys.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I’m largely successful in googling what Canadians call certain things, but I could find no straight answer for “bandage tape.” Sorry!
> 
> Honestly getting your fingers slammed by a hydraulic ram would most likely crush them, if not straight-up amputate them, but that is just a little bit too brutal for what we’re going for here.
> 
> Also, mad respect to Letterkenny in general, but small square bales are for hobbyists and people with like horses or calves and that’s it (honestly it could be the industry standard in Canada, I don’t know. But, like, why?).


End file.
